Secrets and Surprises
by SpiralSeeker
Summary: Harry has a dangerous problem, and a big secret. Who will help him heal? HPDM. Angst. Potentially triggering.
1. Chapter 1: Serpent

**Secrets and Suprises**. Chapter One: The Serpent

**Disclaimer**: Does a little dance I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually. I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering material.

* * *

He was late. _Christ, I'm late!_ Harry's mind raced as his lone figure bulleted through empty corridors._ Third time this week, McGoogle's gonna flip…_

_As if this weren't bad enough..._his mind began to wander towards his secret as Harry struggled desperately from keeping it away. The secret that neither Ron nor Hermione knew. It was insane. He was insane, he knew it. It was fucked up and wrong, what he did to himself in the dark of night, when nightmares hid in the corners of his mind and Harry couldn't hide from himself anymore, couldn't fight the raging serpent thrashing against his ribs. _If it's so bad, why does it help..? _No, help wasn't the right word. Calm. Relax. Give a brief moment of focus where nothing else matters, when he could shut the world out. Push aside what he really didn't understand and was therefore killing him. It was an offering of blood to keep the snake at bay.

Minutes later, Harry was startled to find himself outside his classroom. Feet and body had carried him there without his mind. It seemed like that happened a lot these days. Self-consciously, he grabbed the hems at the sleeves of his robes and tugged them down, tucking books between his side and his elbow. A deep breath, and then he slid into class.

"Potter," McGonagall's voice was so cold it sent shivers down his spine and made him cringe. "See me after class. I have no time to waste during class with your childish sense of time." When she turned away from the class to fetch their practice equipment (Dirty shoes, to be transformed into turtles) Hermione turned back to shoot him a look of sympathy. Ron was far to absorbed in taking down notes from the board—McGonagall had caught him passing notes in the past week and reamed the redhead with two week's detentions. Some of the Slytherins that he shared the class with silently high-fived each other, reveling in the embarrassment of "The Chosen One." Harry didn't quite understand that, their joy in seeing him fall. He was human, wasn't he? _Well,_ he thought, left hand moving to rest gingerly over his right forearm, _maybe not. _His eyes instinctively searched the room for the cold blue ones that were doubtlessly trying to meet his own. They didn't fail him now. Draco Malfoy was staring at, no, not just that, **waiting** for Harry to look his way. Cold grin crossed the blonde's face as he pumped a fist and mimed cheering at Harry's demise. Harry rolled his eyes with a scowl and flipped Malfoy off.

It seemed to Harry, though, that Malfoy being nasty was really the only thing he could count on these days. That alone seemed to be solid in his life. _Pathetic!_ The serpent groaned inside his mind. _Is that all you have, you hopeless dullard? No, you have me. You need me. _Harry bit back the urge to scream, run, do anything to drive the stomach-turning voice inside his head. He knew what would make it leave, oh, he knew very well what it wanted, what he needed to do to relieve the growing pressure in his temples and the itch in his fingers.

_I hate you,_ Harry shot back, only half believing his own words. A sickening moment of realization, and then, _No, I hate…me._


	2. Chapter 2: Worries

**Secrets and Suprises**. Chapter Two: Worries

**Disclaimer**: Does a little dance I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually. I am a whore for hurt and comfort.

Harry waited after class, as instructed, nearly quaking in his shoes as he waited for his fellow students to leave and to be inevitably sentenced to his death. Classes were over for the evening; he had an hour of study time now and then dinner.

"See you at dinner, Harry…" Hermione said quietly, placing a comforting hand on her raven-haired friend's shoulder a moment before hurrying out the door.

"Yeah, mate…" Ron nodded and quirked his lips in the way he did. _Buck up, bud, _is what they said.

To Harry, their voices were a mile away. Somewhere inside of him he was touched by their concern, something dwelling in the cold inside warmed to know that his friends cared about him. He had been acting so differently lately, he felt rotten for what he couldn't tell them. He knew his best friends wanted the old Harry back, the Harry that didn't shoulder the world's responsibility, the Harry who had fire behind bright green eyes. Guilt seeped through his every pore, killing the warmth of his friends' love. _I don't deserve them._

"Potter, **Potter.**" McGonagall's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife.

"What? Oh, sorry, professor, I just…" Harry shrugged, helpless. Again, he felt bad. He liked McGonagall's class, he knew that he was strong in transfiguration, and he knew he let McGonagall down every time he was late.

Something softened on the woman's face. _My God, _she thought, _the boy looks like he's going to cry. _"Welcome back to earth, Mister Potter. Now," She folded her hands in front of her on the desk, pursing her lips and giving him a sincere look. "You know, Harry, how I value being prompt, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am." He stared at his shoelaces. "I'm really, really sorry about this."

McGonagall blinked. "Potter, are you quite alright? If this happened couple months ago you would have been spilling out an excuse before I could even say 'boo.'" She did care for the boy, in an obscure way. Pity wasn't what she felt, but she didn't think that anyone should have to bear the burden that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was born in to.

Harry looked up, stunned, surprised by her question. "I, er, well, I'm fine, I guess. Yeah. Fine." He nodded.

"Hm." She didn't believe him. Dark circles under his eyes suggested that "fine" was nowhere near an explanation. Their eyes connected briefly and McGonagall found herself more than a little worried. The look in the lanky student's eyes said, "_Please, don't ask anything more, because I might tell you." _It was a plea. A plea that she wasn't sure Harry knew he was giving her. Blinking hard a moment, she felt a little off balance. "Well, though I am inspired to take pity on you, we can't let tardiness go unexcused. I will see you in my office on Tuesdays and Thursdays, six-oh-clock in the evening sharp, for the next month. You start tomorrow."

Harry stifled a groan, but he knew it could be worse. Much worse. "Okay, professor." He turned to go, grabbing his heavy book bag on the way out. He almost hesitated, almost stopped and collapsed to his knees like he wanted to, scream, cry, bear his arms and his soul so that maybe someone, **anyone**, would have to be stronger than him, for once. He thought about it, and then an almost audible sigh escaped his lips as he fought his better nature and trudged out the door.

Minerva McGonagall didn't know what to do. The state of young Harry Potter disconcerted her to the point of being much like a worrisome mother. _How do I reach out to a troubled teen?_ Frowning, she decided to wait. She could talk to Harry the nights he had to be here. Indeed, there was time. Still, though, she had to fight the terrible gnawing at her insides, the feeling that something just wasn't right about her favorite student.


	3. Chapter 3: Release

**Secrets and Surprises**. Chapter Three: Release

**Disclaimer**: Does a little dance I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually. I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering material.

The serpent was pleased as Harry fled to Gryffindor tower. _She'd have made you stop, anyways. _Harry nearly growled, battling such thoughts from his mind. He should have told her, he should tell anyone, so that he could be shipped off the St. Mungo's and not have to worry anymore, not have to be worried **about **anymore.

Close to collapsing as he reached the lady in the pink dress, gasping for air as he choked out "Avis", stumbling through the hole into the dimly lit room. A few people lounging in cushioned seats waved, he waved back without really seeing who or understanding why. Only one thing mattered now. He forced himself not to run up the stairs in urgency, not to speed to his goal that lay behind the mirror covered cabinet. Hands shook as he splashed cold water over his pale face, barely noticing the dark circles under half-crazed eyes, the gaunt look about his once healthy appearance. White knuckles gripped at the porcelain sink as he panted, one final, futile attempt to keep the snake at bay. _I don't need you. I don't need this! _He wanted to yell, scream over and over again, but he couldn't. Eyes were fixed on a point behind the reflective surface where he knew his cure lay.

_Don't kid yourself, Harry. _Trembling hand reached for the edge of the mirrored door. _You don't want to stop. _Fingers pulled the small cabinet open, found the object he couldn't resist. _You're weak. You're a burden to others. They don't even want to know about this. _Harry gasped for air as the razor touched his skin, anticipation sending a shiver down his back. _That's right. I understand. This is all that matters. It will be okay. _He pressed, pulled, and then there was the release, fresh, clean, and Harry could breathe again.

_Good…_The beast breathed as well, finally uncoiling and letting loose Harry's insides.

Harry stumbled as knees went weak, sweet relief from life soon followed by a spell of panic. Running to the toilet and grabbing paper, he wadded it clumsily over the wound as he wiped the stained sink down before anyone came in. Once all suspiciousness was erased, he almost smiled. _God, that felt good._ He sighed to himself, ever-present knot in his chest loosening. He held the mass of bloody tissue tight to his arm for a few minutes, then walked slowly to his bed. The surge of adrenaline made him feel good and then exhausted as it left. He sank into bed covers gladly, sliding underneath and falling into a soft sleep, hand still clamped over fresh cut.

In the Great Hall, Ron checked his watch nervously. It was fifteen minutes until dinner was over and his best mate, save Hermione, hadn't made an appearance yet. Hermione's face was a mirror of his own, laced with worry and confusion.

"Hermione, what is going on with him, anyways?" Ron sighed, setting his fork down with a little more force than what was needed.

I don't...know, Ron." She looked like she was going to cry. "He just hasn't been himself lately, has he? I worry that…" She let her voice trail off, consumed by her thoughts.

"What, Hermione? 'Cause if there's anything we can do…"

"Harry's always dealt with—everything," she made a gesture with her hands to emphasize, brown curly hair shaking on her shoulders, "so well. I worry that he can't do that anymore."

"The hell he can't. He's the toughest guy I know." Ron poked his potatoes, chewing a lip thoughtfully.

"That's just it though, Ron. He won't talk about it because he feels that way, too." She gave him a pointed look.

Ron blinked, realization taking a moment. "Oh! I see. Well, I think I do, at least. How'd you figure that out, anyways?"

"Well," Hermione began, picking at a dinner roll, "women's intuition, maybe? Or maybe I get it because people always expect me to be the smartest, to have the right answers. No, don't look at me like that, **I'm **not the one in any distress about it."

Ron sat for a moment longer, then stood up with bravado. "Right! Well, I think we should talk to him. You know?"

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "I guess the worst that could happen is that he, uh, stops talking to us, and in which case, nothing would have really changed, hm?"


	4. Chapter 4: Intervention

**Secrets and Suprises**. Chapter Four: Intervention

**Disclaimer**: Does a little dance I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually. I am a whore for hurt and comfort.

When Harry woke it was an hour past dinner. "Damn…" He muttered groggily, reaching over to his nightstand for his glasses and cramming them on his face. Sighing, he stared up at the drapes covering his bed, reveling in his moment of quiet, warm in his bed, dormitory to himself. It made him want to go back to sleep. Hand reached up to take glasses off once more, then voices from the common room drifted up the stairs and hit Harry with a terrible feeling of _duty._

Harry sagged. He had to go down there, didn't he? He missed dinner, Ron and Hermione must be furious. There was homework, too. He didn't do any of his weekend assignments, and desperately needed to catch up. Damn, damn his sense of duty, the thing so many people admired in him and that he wished he could destroy. Groaning a little, he tumbled out of bed and trudged downstairs.

Hermione and Ron were there, pretending to do homework. Harry didn't know that they had carefully rehearsed what they intended to say to him in the hour that Harry was absent after dinner.

"Heya, Harry. Seamus told us you were taking a nap, so we weren't sure if you'd be coming down…" Ron began, smiling warmly through his nerves. The state of his best mate worried him, and he hoped that this was the best thing to do.

"Yeah, just transfiguration today really, ah, took it out of me, you know?" Harry smiled the best he could in what he thought was a convincing way, rubbing his right eye with his knuckles sleepily.

Hermione wasn't convinced. "Harry, why don't you sit down with us? I feel like it's been forever since we've all been together." Her turn to smile now, she patted the seat of a chair next to hers.

_That's because we **haven't **been together in forever, Hermione…_ Harry thought miserably, though his face wouldn't show it. "Sure. What's up?" He flopped into the seat heavily, sinking into cushion.

"Well, we, um…" Ron stammered. He wasn't quite sure how to begin.

"Harry, we're worried about you." Hermione blurted quickly, before she lost the wits to say it.

"Yeah, mate. It's like, we don't see you anymore. You know? You sleep a lot. And, and you haven't done your schoolwork in over a week. Which, would be normal for me, you know," Ron laughed nervously, not sure how to read the blank look on Harry's face, "But, well…"

Again, Hermione interjected. "Harry. You don't smile anymore." She looked at him sadly, waiting for a reaction. "And, you know, if it's anything we're doing, we'd be happy to fix it. Right, Ron?"

"Right!"

Harry felt very small. They were blaming themselves, then? He should tell them. He should tell them everything. Tell them about the lack of control he had over his own life. How he worried that he'd never be able to lead a normal life. Would there always be Rita Skeeters tracking him down, taking him out of context, make him the poster boy for an obscure cause that people loved to hate, or hated to love?

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. How would he tell them? How would he tell them about the serpent? What would they do? And then, there was always the one thing. The thing that manifested itself Cho Chang in his fourth year. Not even that, it was that damned sense of duty that had made him nervous around her. He was obligated, wasn't he, to ask a **girl** to the Yule Ball, and not a…

"I need to take a walk!" He blurted out loudly, leaping to his feet and practically lunging towards the portrait hole.

Ron stood as if to follow him, but Hermione grabbed his arm. "Wait, Ron," she sighed, "He'll come back. At least he knows we care." She didn't sound too sure. Ron slumped a little, then nodded, resigned to the fact that maybe he didn't always know what was going on in his best friend's head, after all.


	5. Chapter 5: Fight

**Secrets and Suprises**. Chapter Five: Fight

**Disclaimer**: Does a little dance I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually. I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content.

The corridors were well lit and mercifully mostly empty. Harry walked, feet carrying him wherever they did, mind racing. _Hell, hell, hell…_He tangled fingers in his hair, frustrated. He wasn't supposed to think about things like this, was he? Did anyone else have these questions? "Gah!" He exclaimed out loud, coming to an abrupt halt and hitting the hard, stone, wall with his fist. Pain shot through his hand and prickled up his arm. Breathing heavily, he sagged forwards, resting his forehead against the cool stones, eyes closed, glasses askew.

This display was far too interesting for Draco Malfoy to walk away from. Walking to his dormitory from the Library, he was all too pleased to find Harry Potter, closer to the Slytherin dungeons than any Gryffindor ever should be, looking like a madman, hitting walls, and overall being utterly irresistible…to harass.

"The Chosen One having a little meltdown then, Potter?" Something about Harry always rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe the right way. Draco wasn't really sure, and the thought scared him. It helped to know that if Harry hated him, he could hate Harry back without feeling bad. Years of verbal jibes and near physical fights had basically taken care of that, he thought, however not without a tiny twinge of regret. That was the part of himself that Draco was trying to bury.

"As if this night couldn't get any worse…" Harry groaned, still not opening his eyes. The **last **thing he needed just had to go on and show up, didn't it?

"Glad I could brighten your day." Malfoy gave his characteristic smirk, cold blue eyes glinting in the low light.

"Sod off, Malfoy. Not tonight." Harry turned to face his antagonist, hand instinctively reaching for the pocket in his robes that held his wand.

"What? No friendly conversation?" Malfoy asked, surprised that Harry wasn't taking the bait. Shrugging a little to himself, he decided to try harder. "Too good for us to eat in the same room? Too high and mighty to even be in the same classroom with the rest of us plebeians?"

"Malfoy, I swear if you do not leave me alone I will end you." Harry spoke evenly in a low voice, slowly drawing his wand from his pocket to level it at his assailant. He sounded tired.

"Oh, I see how it is," Malfoy nodded mockingly, though he wasn't quite sure what he was doing anymore. Why did he feel the need to assault Harry endlessly? Why couldn't he stop and let bygones be bygones? It had something to do with the hair, the way Harry's hair feel in front of those deep green eyes. _So utterly annoying and completely…entrancing. _He blinked. Those were the exact thoughts he **did not **need. _Push them away, make him hate you. _"Pressure's too much, isn't it, Potter? Can't take the heat? Or, maybe this is just another plan for attention? The 'Great Harry Potter', alone and distressed in the world, take two?"

It was enough to make Harry snap. Suddenly, it wouldn't be enough satisfaction to hex the hell out of the Slytherin, he needed to feel the pain he inflicted. With an almost guttural growl, Harry leapt forward, fist driving forwards and coming in contact with Draco's left side, just on the rib cage.

Draco saw it coming, didn't have the reflex to stop it. Harry's clenched fist hit him, **hard**, hard enough to bruise. Rage lit like a fire in his belly and he launched himself into Harry, tackling the taller boy to the ground and punching him squarely in the jaw.

It was a fight of giants. Neither knew who was winning. Anything that could be kicked, hit, pinched, hurt, was fair game. They tumbled about on the floor wildly until Harry actually cried out in genuine pain, the sound harsh and tearing from his throat before he could stop it. The sound was enough to bring them back to reality, and both of them froze.

Draco quickly appraised their position. He was practically on top of Harry, left hand holding the other's right shoulder, Draco's right hand on Harry's other forearm, fingers digging in cruelly until he realized the tips of them were wet. Wet and red with blood.

Harry watched Draco's eyes widen in surprise, then confusion as the blue eyed boy stared at the spot where his hand had been seconds ago. Draco looked suddenly to Harry, silent eye contact made. Harry couldn't look away, he was swimming in those depths that he had never really looked, actually **looked at** before. Silence, and then, Harry squeezed his eyes closed, wrenching away from the soul-probing stare. He turned his head to the side, bit back bitter tears and gave one short nod. He felt cold fingers slide under the sleeve of his robe and then cold air as the flesh was exposed…

_What…What is this..? Harry..! _Draco thought in disbelief, and was that heartache he was feeling? He was lost in Harry's shining green eyes before the raven-haired boy looked away. An unspoken agreement. Trembling fingers reached and then pulled away the wide sleeve of the black robe. Draco gasped outright at the sight before him. Harry flinched at the sound.

"Christ, Potter…" The display was haunting. The Boy Who Everyone Loved had a secret, a big secret indeed. Pale forearm was criss-crossed with pinkish scars, some not very severe, many that were. The wound that they had opened in their fight was bleeding slowly, blood smeared by the fabric all over the area near the crook of Harry's arm. Silence save for the sound of heavy, nervous breathing. Draco stared a moment longer and then swung his leg over Harry so that he was no longer straddling the Gryffindor boy, instead sitting on his other side, by his other arm.

"This one, too..?" Draco asked quietly. Harry nodded, squeezing eyes tighter and clenching his fist. "Don't get any ideas, Potter..." Draco muttered at the gesture, pretty sure the guy wouldn't take a cheap shot, but also wasn't completely sure. He rolled up Harry sleeve on this side, now, and frowned sadly at a similar display as the opposite arm. Sighing a little, he released the other and slid up against the wall, leaning his back against it. "Well, sit up, then." He said gruffly.

Harry opened his eyes, but didn't look at Draco. _Shame._ That's what he felt. Of all people to know about this, why did it have to be Draco? _Actually, _a voice reasoned, _he might be the best person to know. The only person who doesn't care enough to get in your way. Who won't make you stop. Too bad it seems like he's the only person who you **want **to care—_Harry cut **those** thoughts off in an instant.Echoing footsteps down an adjoining hall alerted him to where they were—in public. Anyone could walk by and—Harry hastily began to pull his sleeves back down.

"No." Draco said, a little too sharply, then looked at Harry's distraught face. Something inside him crumbled. "We'll go to the Room of Requirement if it bothers you so damn much..."

Harry paused, almost angry, but far too tired. "Wouldn't it bother you?" Words that were meant to sound like an accusation came out as a plea, a desire for maybe just a little sympathy. He cursed himself silently.

Draco hesitated, mind racing. _That was mean of me to say…_"Yeah. I guess it would."

It was as much of an apology that Harry would ever get from the blonde, and so, it was an agreement.


	6. Chapter 6: Repair

**Secrets and Suprises**. Chapter Six: Repair

**Disclaimer**: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Getting closer...>.>). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content.

**Also**: Thank you for the reviews! It is very much appreciated.

* * *

_Since when do I care if what I say is mean? Especially to Harry Potter? _Draco asked himself with incredulity as he shut the door. _Don't be ridiculous. You've always cared, _was the timid response. He ignored it. Turning around, he smiled. The Room of Requirement didn't fail them. It had conjured itself up in the shape of a comfortable, clean sitting room. Cushioned chairs sat in front of a quietly burning fireplace, in-between the armchairs sat a small circular table, with clean rags, neatly folded gauze atop its surface, a bowl of water, and a small bowl of murtlap. Harry stood, his back to Draco, sleeves still hastily rolled up.

"Sit, Potter." Draco quipped, in a tone of voice that didn't allow for disagreements. He couldn't quite figure out why he didn't just shun Harry, push him away and let his actual friends deal with the kid. _Because you're not the bad person everyone thinks you are. The bad person **you **think you are. _Draco sighed. When Harry sat, Draco seated himself in the opposite chair.

Harry was almost in a daze. He had followed Malfoy up the stairs and through many hallways without really knowing what was going on. So his secret was out. _Well, **one **of them, at least…_ he thought, then shook his head lightly. He allowed himself to be ushered into the room without protest, even went and sank into a chair on Draco's command. _Now what?_ Malfoy looked like he was pondering the same thing.

"This is going to sound—strange, Potter, but I need you to take off your robe." Draco winced at his own words.

"What, why?" Harry questioned. _If this scene could get any weirder…_ Here his was, with his archenemy, in the Room of Requirement, arms bare, Malfoy had just asked him to take off his robe, and to top it off--they **weren't **trying to kill each other. Strange indeed.

Malfoy sighed impatiently. "Robe, sleeves, large, pain in the **arse**." With an impatient roll of his eyes, he gestured towards the huge sleeve, which was indeed being a pain in that it kept rolling down, covering the area that needed first aid the most.

"Right." Harry nodded, briefly met Malfoy's eyes, and then looked away, hastily pulling the robe over his head. He was left in the uniform black pants and a simple white tee. Awkward, he waited.

Draco tried not to watch. He tried very, very hard not to watch as Harry turned away from him and took off his robe. He didn't really want to see the way Harry's back muscles flexed and tensed with each movement, the way his slender torso twisted with ease…Draco shook his head, clearing it. _Not a chance, Draco. _While **he** was perfectly aware and mostly okay with the fact that he was of the male persuasion, he was sure that Harry wasn't. It didn't matter, anyway. He simply couldn't stand Harry as he was—much less entertain the idea that Harry even **might **want to…

Harry coughed quietly, drawing Draco from his thoughts. "Right, well then. Come here." Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's wrist, pulling the arm towards him, gentle yet firm, not yielding to any resistance put up by Harry. He reached for one of the clean rags and dipped it into the dish of water. _It's warm, _he smiled softly. The R.o.R. was certainly an amazing thing. He dabbed at the area around the fresh cut, cleaning dried blood.

"You know, I can do this myself." Harry grumbled, though not putting up a fuss.

"Don't be stupid. No you can't." Draco said simply back, re-dipping the rag and wiping more, inching closer to the gash.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Harry questioned, a flare of anger rising.

Draco gripped Harry's wrist tighter, enough for the other to notice but not enough to hurt. "It means, Potter, that you obviously **haven't **been doing this yourself, judging by…" He nodded towards the lower part of the forearm, an excess of scar tissue serving as evidence.

_Malfoy's right. Damn. _He didn't have time to come up with a retort before he winced, warm rag coming in contact with the actual cut now. "Oww!" The end of the sound raised in pitch, an urgent feel.

"Easy. There must be some sort of disinfectant if that hurts so much." Draco stated intelligently.

There was a long silence in which Draco finished tending to Harry, ignoring small gasps and sharp intakes of breath from the other as he applied the murtlap, neatly wrapped the area, and sank back into his chair, releasing the lanky individual.

Harry let out a long breath. He felt like he had been holding it the entire time. Something about the way Malfoy worked, the way strong hands were so gentle—it made him feel—_Maybe he's more than I thought he was._ Harry blinked. It was almost like he had been let out of a trance. He slumped, suddenly very tired. Brief glance was given to his wristwatch, the display read 10:13. _Damn, _he thought, _not late enough to be an excuse._ But then again, did he really want to leave? He looked over at Malfoy, intrigued to see the blonde staring into the fire, elbows resting on armrests while fingertips touched each other in front of his face, splayed ever so slightly. A picture of deep thought.

Indeed, Draco was in deep thought. There were a couple of routes to take now, he guessed. One, ditch the guy. He'd done his good deed, hadn't he? He was no longer responsible, but then again—Draco gave an ever-so-quick glance over to the skinny Boy Who Looked So Lost and realized he was more responsible than anyone. _Damn. _

"So," Draco began, "Talk."


	7. Chapter 7: Talking

**Secrets and Suprises**. Chapter Seven: Talking

**Disclaimer**: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Oh boy, oh boy!). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content. Not perfect match with the books (Draco is not a Death Eater in training).

**Also**: Thank you for the reviews! It is very much appreciated. This is my first story, so it goes a long way :) Hugs and kisses for you all.

* * *

Harry stared. It wasn't the "_Get out_" that he had been expecting. "Wh—What?" When the only response from Draco was a small eyebrow raise and a glare that said, "_Don't make me ask again because I won't," _Harry closed his mouth. Tried again. "You don't want to hear it, it's all just me being stu—"

"For Christ's sake, Potter!" Draco snapped, "Stop acting like such a Goddamned Gryffindor!"

"Hey, what's your malfunction, Malfoy!" Harry fumed. **Now** came the killing part, right?

Malfoy huffed once, then regained composure._ I have to explain **everything **to this kid, don't I?_ "Gryffindors, as I'm sure **you **know, are heroes. Heroes do not share their feelings, feelings that you are very clearly **having**," He gave Harry a pointed look, "With anyone. For fear of being less of a hero. You must Carry The World On Your Shoulders, and be damned if anyone helps you!" He said the cliché phrase with a fake enthusiasm. "And I'm here to tell you that that is **stupid. **Idiocy, even. No one can do that."

It was interesting to Harry that even when Malfoy was explaining himself he could make it sound like an insult. It was also interesting that what Malfoy had said had been eerily close to the truth. _But there's more to it than that…_ "There's nothing wrong with saving your friends trouble."

"Potter, they wouldn't be your friends if they didn't want to know what you were thinking."

"But, it's all stuff they know already—"

"Obviously not."

The simple truth struck Harry to the core. He stared once more at the blonde man opposite him. A long silence. Then, "Why do you care..?" Harry turned his head to face Malfoy, looking for eye contact.

_Oh, I wish I knew, Harry. _"So that when you do something really stupid and land yourself in the hospital wing, or worse, six feet under, _**I** _won't have to feel bad about it, okay?" It was a harsh answer, he knew, but his heart wasn't in it. The statement was enough to keep his front but not enough to make him seem uncaring. _Perfect. _He looked in Harry's direction and was captivated by those green eyes, bright emerald full of sadness, pain, anger, and confusion. A lot of confusion. "So," he said, quietly, finding it almost hard to breathe, "Would you, just..?"

Harry pulled his eyes away, feeling suddenly very exposed. Staring at his hands, he drew a shaking breath, found the strength to begin.

"I don't have a future, Malfoy." Harry felt the confused look on the side of his face. "I don't. Think about it. All I have is a past. The Boy Who Lived, vanquisher of All That Is Evil. When have people ever talked to me otherwise? They expect me to kill Voldemort again, I know they do—but, what happens after that? The Boy Who Lives A Normal Life? No, never! I won't ever be left alone. I can't have a normal career, even." He paused, breathed.

"The thing that's worst is, I can't say no. I have this, this, responsibility to these people that I hate! I have to be the beacon of hope, because if I'm not, no one else is. If I'm unhappy, the entire wizarding **world** is unhappy! I can't turn my back on it." Harry closed his eyes. "And it's so two-faced. Love me one day, hate me the next, I can't take it! I'd rather that everyone hated me always, than do this. You know, people don't even have to know me to send me hate or love mail? Knowing my name is enough for people to think they have the right to tell me their mental prognosis about what the fuck is wrong with me. A quote that I said about, about, the state of jelly in Ireland is enough to set people off! I'm under a fucking microscope!" Harry paused, panting.

Malfoy took advantage of the silence. "Couldn't your mates, Weasley, Granger..?"

Harry almost laughed. The thought made the backs of his eyes start to sting. "I can't do that to them. I honestly can't—cannot—expect them to be part of this. Ron thinks it's all ruddy excellent, anyways. It took him until the first task of that Triwizard Tournament before he realized what I'd been trying to say all along—that this, this being **me** thing, it isn't what it's cracked up to be. And Hermione," He pinched the delicate skin between his thumb and forefinger now, fighting the urge to cry. "Think of what she'd say if she knew about this." He wagged his elbows once for emphasis. "She'd be heartbroken, because she'd blame herself for not noticing. For not being good enough. For not having the fucking answer." Exasperated, he added under his breath, "She's **always **got the fucking answer…" He shook his head quickly. "This, this **thing** I do, well, sometimes it's all **I've** got, and she wouldn't understand. It's not something you can write in books, not something you can just explain, like that." He snapped his fingers to stress the point. His voice got quiet then. "When I do it, it's like, all this," He gestured with a sweeping hand motion around the room, "It goes away. It's all that matters. It's easy."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow in concern. Harry had deflated substantially, looked like he was just about done. _Wow. _It was overwhelming, he had to admit, hero complex or not. He had to ask. "Are you…finished?" It wasn't a statement of impatience necessarily; it was more to be sure that he didn't cut Harry off if there was more to come. He tried to make himself believe that he was doing this just for backstabbing purposes, tried, and then failed miserably. He knew he'd never tell a soul.

"Maybe…" Harry said, weighing something very heavy in his head. The other piece to the puzzle. _He knows practically everything else…_Oh God, was he going to do this? "No, no I'm not done," he breathed the words out in one breath. _Oh God, oh God, Malfoy's your archenemy, don't do this to yourself, because if you do you'll regret it, he'll make sure of that, and—_"Malfoy, I think I'm gay."


	8. Chapter 8: Thinking

**Secrets and Surprises**. Chapter Eight: Thinking

**Disclaimer**: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Gee whiz!). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content. Not perfect match with the books (Draco is not a Death Eater in training). Not much plot in this chapter, just character development (Hopefully you all see it that way, too).

**Also**: 1) Thank you for the reviews! It is very much appreciated. This is my first story, so it goes a long way :) Hugs and kisses for you all.

2) I know updates for this story have been coming fast and furious, and I hope to keep it that way for the time being. However, at some point my "real" life is going to come a-knocking, and I might have to cut back to updating once a week or so. Just so all you pretty people know XD

It was the longest silence of Harry's life. The longest and most terrifying. _I can't believe I just said that out loud…_ He swallowed, trying to get his heart out of his throat, trying to ease the knots his stomach was tying itself into. It felt surreal. Or, maybe more **real** than anything he'd ever experienced. The quiet stretched and thickened until Harry thought he might snap. He settled for staring at his hands, instead.

Draco blinked. Blinked again. _What?_ He all but gaped at Harry. The Boy Who Had More Secrets Than One was studying his palms, no doubt waiting for Draco to respond. _But how? What am I supposed to say? _He cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, fingers laced between them. He had to think, and fast. Harry looked like he might cry again. "Well," he said shortly, "That makes the two of us." He stared at the fire. _Was that the right choice? _A look at Harry's face told him it was.

Harry's expression was that of shock, confusion, and **relief**. Relief, more than anything. _I'm not alone…_A nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You mean, you mean that you..?" Of course Harry had heard the rumors about the Slytherin ringleader—but who was he, of all people, to take rumors seriously?

"Of course that's what I meant. Honestly," Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, "Is it that big of a deal?" Sighing, he stood, quickly pulling out his pocket watch. 11:24. _Late. _He smirked. "Right, well, this has been fun, but I think it's really time to go." It was another creative way of not seeming too caring. He stood and waited for Harry to do the same before he made his way to the door.

"Bu—what?" _That was abrupt, _he thought, rising slowlyHe first had to be needled into talking, and now it seemed like that was all he wanted to do. _How did you know? When did you know? Who else knows? Why do I feel this way? _Harry silenced his mind quickly, knowing that he wouldn't get the answers he wanted—judging by Malfoy's suddenly impersonal demeanor. Sighing softly, he bent to the ground and grabbed his robe, pulling the garment over his head.

The two boys had made it to the door before Harry stopped. "Hey," he said, almost shy. Draco turned to face him, small smirk playing across his features.

"Thanks, Draco." He extended his palm for a handshake.

Draco hesitated, _My reputation…_Part of his mind groaned softly. Another pause, and then, _Screw the reputation!_ This seemed, for once, a much more reasonable response. Smiling now, he took Harry's surprisingly warm hand in his own, giving a firm shake. "Don't mention it, Harry."

And then, for the first time in months, Harry smiled.

Draco almost fell over, his knees went so weak. _Those are dangerous feelings, Draco…_something mused inside of him. He ignored it. As he reached for the doorknob, he couldn't resist one more crack. "You know, Potter, I was being serious about the 'not mentioning' bit. Think of my previously unmarred name!"

Harry looked up questioningly, then noted the sarcastic smile stretched across the other's face, however not without a tiny flutter in his stomach. _Er, did I just feel that?_ Shaking it off, he raised his eyebrows in fake seriousness. "God forbid," he replied, and added, "Like anyone in this school would believe it. We lasted this long, and without a dead body to show for it." He laughed softly.

"If I don't get to bed soon, there will be. So--" Draco swung the door open and held his arm out, gesturing for Harry to go out first. Resisting the urge to trip the other (_that would be hysterical!_ His mind had quirked), he shut the door behind them.

Harry waved, muttering a quiet "Seeya." He felt suddenly awkward. A nervous smile, and then he turned and walked away, back towards Gryffindor Tower. He felt light. Who would have thought that having a confidant would help? Draco hadn't offered any advice, and hell, he hadn't even acted that kindly to him—but something in him rejoiced to know that someone else shared his secrets, someone else like him.

Not to be forgotten, the sleeping serpent opened one eye. _He'll betray you. _Harry's steps faltered, before he picked them up again. _I don't care,_ he spat back, _I'm not alone, I'm not alone..! _ The horrid voice whispered back. _I'll always be here, Harry…_

Harry repressed the urge to shudder as he reached the portrait, whispered the password, and slid through. No one was waiting up for him, which was probably for the best. He felt a pang of guilt for leaving Ron and Hermione so abruptly, and then making them worry when he didn't return. Sighing, he trudged up to bed. _I'll explain something to them tomorrow…_

Draco had watched him go, an odd feeling in his stomach. He had always given Harry so much trouble without thinking about what was going on in the boy's head, and now he was fighting a pang of regret—an unfamiliar feeling, that was for certain. He couldn't figure why Harry was making him second guess himself—all those times the two had fought, hadn't he, and not Harry, really been right? _No. Actually, maybe never. _Then why had he always started it, always provoked Harry? _Because that first day on the Hogwarts Express really did hurt you. Because you always wanted Harry to approve of you. And when he didn't, you wanted to make yourself hate him, too._ Draco cursed quietly as he headed the opposite direction, towards the Slytherin Dungeons, more questions haunting him. Why in the hell was he being so honest with himself? What was different about tonight than he couldn't turn a cold shoulder any longer? _Because, _his mind reasoned, _that's what he brings out in you. Honesty. Loyalty. A need to help others. The parts of you your father tried to kill. Father made you into a snake and Harry makes you want to be a lion…_

Rolling into bed that night, Draco smiled and said to himself, "Goddamned Gryffindors…"


	9. Chapter 9: Revelation

**Secrets and Surprises**. Chapter Nine: Revelation

**Disclaimer**: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Gee whiz!). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content. Not perfect match with the books (Draco is not a Death Eater in training).

**Also**: 1) Thank you for the reviews! It is very much appreciated. This is my first story, so it goes a long way :) Hugs and kisses for you all.

2) So sorry this update took so long! An unfortunate series of events and an incredible blow of writer's block are to blame.

Breakfast the next morning found Harry scribbling furiously at his Charms homework while Ron and Hermione looked on in interest. Harry had arrived to breakfast before either of them had—the earliest the boy had woken in weeks, and now he even seemed to be struck with a resolve to do at least **some **of the piles of homework he had neglected as of late.

"Did **you **convince him to do his homework?" Ron whispered to her as they approached the table where Harry sat.

"No…Maybe we did something right last night?" She didn't have time to pursue the thought before they sat down in front of Harry, pulling a plate of toast towards her. "Good morning, Harry!" She said cheerily, wanting to impress upon him the fact that she was happy he was doing his work.

Harry looked up from his papers and gave a quirk of a smile. "'Morning, guys. Ron, did you do this assignment? I need to check something…"

"Harry, that was from two weeks ago." Ron smiled—Harry looked more rested than he had in what seemed like forever, tiredness only a hint on the pale face instead of consuming it.

"Yeah, well, I gotta start somewhere," He shrugged, laughing at himself. Checking his watch, he seemed to make a decision. "Right. I've got a half hour before classes start, I'm going to run down to library really quick. See you guys later!" A wave and a flick of the black robe hem, and then he was gone.

"…Hermione."

"Yes, Ron?" She asked, spreading jam on a second piece of toast.

"He laughed."

Hermione nodded, small smile playing on her lips. "Makes me wonder what actually **happened **on that little walk of his last night."

Harry sighed gratefully, sliding into a seat at the table surrounded by books. It was quieter here. All things considered, he felt okay today. Almost good, even. _It's a bloody miracle…_He mused as he scratched out words on his paper, not really needing to think about his work He had rolled out of bed that morning without the intense need to hide himself under his covers once more, hide from the horrors of the day yet to come. And now, for a change, he seemed in unusually high spirits. _How's that work…?_

His mind returned to last night's events. Specifically to one, Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin had surprised him, that was for certain, first with his ability to fight and later with his strange kindness. The bandage that the blonde had put in place was still wrapped snugly around his arm, serving as a reminder that maybe the kid wasn't all bad, and that Harry didn't carry his secrets alone. Also, he wondered what things would be like between the two of them **now.**

Sighing, not noticing the smile spread on his face, Harry finished off his assignment and headed to class.

Draco had watched Harry over breakfast, noting the way the raven-haired Gryffindor moved with more ease, the way he casually spoke to his friends. He smiled to himself before he knew what he was doing, and then, in an effort to avoid strange looks from Crabbe and Goyle, hid it behind his napkin, pretending to wipe his face. _So this is what doing something nice feels like…_He almost laughed at himself, surprised that something so simple made him feel actually good. _Funny, _he thought, _I always assumed it would be a pain in the ass._ Indeed, to a Slytherin, going out of one's way for someone else was not a rewarding idea at all. Chuckling darkly, he realized that most Slytherins, including his father, had told him that without ever actually **trying** it.

It would be interesting, he mused, to see if their relationship changed at all. Maybe they'd continue going on being nasty to each other? No, that didn't seem right. Draco smirked to himself, standing and heading down the corridors to his Potions class, trying to make a decision. Maybe he'd refrain from outwardly harassing the Boy Who He'd Underestimated, but he also wouldn't try to be buds. _Yeah, that sounds more reasonable. _Kept his distance while staying cool. He frowned, sliding into his seat. Keeping his distance—why was that such a priority? He thought of those green eyes once more and felt a small flutter in his stomach. _Ah, _he shook his head quickly, pushing the feeling away. _That's why._

The first half of Harry's day was a blur—he found himself concentrating in all of his classes and surprising his teachers with his sudden resolve to catch up. He worked through lunch even, hiding in the library, doing his transfiguration. Of all his classes, he had felt the worst about that one. With a start, he remembered his detention that night and groaned, scratching out a misspelled word and rewriting it before lurching out of his seat and trotting to Potions.

They saw each other in the hall after lunch. Harry saw the platinum blonde head making it's way through the hordes of students and frowned a little at himself when his stomach seemed to turn over as soon as Draco's face came into view. _That could get very annoying…_he thought, and brushed it off as a need to thank the other once more. All he had to do was get Draco's attention.

Draco was (thankfully, he realized later) walking alone, oblivious to the tall, black-haired boy's efforts to meet his eye. That is, until he did. Suddenly Draco found himself lost again in those emerald greens—so full of depth that it was startling. He might have gasped out loud, and didn't even realize he had stopped walking. Harry was mouthing something—it was a silent "Thank you." He smiled outright before he had a chance to stop himself, and then realizing that a desperate first-year, arms full of books, was trying to push around him, he tore his eyes from The Boy He Wanted To Spend More Time With, and practically ran off.

_He smiled. _Harry blinked and tried to shake the joy he felt at this realization. _Has he ever done that before? _He shook his head and hurried down the flights of stairs to the dungeons, knowing it would be his head if he ever ended up late to Snape's class. Something about that freely given smile upset him. Not in a bad way, he just didn't know what it the difference was. The thought plagued him halfway through the period before he figured it out, the revelation causing him to drop the large metal spoon he'd been holding on the floor, drawing dirty glares from other students and an especially pointed death-stare from the Professor.

_He's **handsome** when he smiles._


	10. Chapter 10: Relapse

**Secrets and Surprises**. Chapter Ten: Relapse

**Disclaimer**: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Gee whiz!). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content. Not perfect match with the books.

**Also**: Hey guys, -Waves sheepishly- Sorry about the distinct lack of updates for maybe half a year, I hope you don't hate me. I'm doing what I can to come back to this fic—life picked up and I lost a lot of motivation as well as any semblance of a plot line that I had in my head. I've got the next chapter or two planned out, but almost nothing after that. Be that as it is, I'd like to get your feedback on what could happen next, (other than the obvious Harry/Draco lovingness) if you have any ideas you'd like to see me write, email me _personally_ at and I'll do my best to incorporate it. You'll also be credited with the idea, so hopefully no worries there. :)

* * *

_No, no, nononoo…_He groaned to himself, bending down hastily to pick up his mess. _Draco Malfoy can**not **be handsome. He's bloody Draco Malfoy! _Harry brooded the rest of class, creating a foul brownish substance that smelled suspiciously of cabbage instead of the light green the potion was supposed to be. _Oh, well._ He flew out of the room when class was over, desperate to walk alone with his thoughts. He had History of Magic next, with Ron and Hermione—so that gave him even more time to think, knowing he never paid attention in that class anyways.

He couldn't like Draco, could he? He had never even thought of the blonde in **any** positive light before last night. But that wasn't really true… _I had never **wanted** to be enemies, had I? It just happened. _Harry knew part of the reason he had been so nasty, the part that had been enough for him to not even give Draco a chance in the beginning--because it was Draco's striking appearance that day on the train that had made Harry realize that he wasn't necessarily like all the other boys. He had hated Draco for that, if nothing else. _But now…_But now things were different. Draco was the only one who knew his two biggest secrets, and even shared one with him.

He slid into his seat, turning the thoughts over and over in his head, but abruptly put them to a halt when one in particular brought back a certain urge. _So what if I like him? It would never work. Slytherin, Gryffindor. Besides, the only reason he was kind to you the other night is because he felt sorry for you. And didn't he make his disdain clear? _Nope, nuh uh, not going there. No wallowing for Harry, especially not since things had been going so well. Well, better than they had been. There were always the whispers around him, never mind the ones in his head that he had been ignoring so diligently. Still the brunt of jokes and the object of desire for those misguided enough to think that he was worth it. He was ignoring it better than he had in months.

The next three days passed surprisingly normally, and by the end of the week, Harry was finally caught up on his school work—if slightly sleep-deprived. And so, motivated by the prospect of a well-deserved nap, he trudged towards the Gryffindor tower, waving weary good-byes to Ron and Hermione. He found himself enjoying their company again, and he was trying to rebuild the friendship that he had neglected for too long. All parties involved were quite happy with it, judging by the smiles that were coming easier, old jokes coming back to life. A little reminiscing could go a long way, Harry thought, smiling to himself about the short conversation him and Ron had earlier.

"_Hey, Ron, do you remember that time you got your head stuck in the closet?"_

_Ron had paused, made a brief attempt to look aghast, and then burst into giggles._

"_Yeah, wow. Bloody good time that was, even if I did have a headache for who knows how long. Hermione laughed at us for days, didn't she?"_

"_Yeah."_

And it had been as simple as that. A fragment of the lost friendship had slid back into place. Harry had grinned all the way to class, had slung a friendly arm around Ron's shoulders.

Lost in thought, Harry hadn't noticed that he was following behind a certain blonde head, of course flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. He fell a few steps back, allowing two first years to cut in front of him. He didn't want to put any strain on the non-relationship that he and Draco had, because to be honest, the **not** talking to each other was a lot easier to deal with than the insult-slinging that they used to engage in.

He tried not to listen, tried very, **very** hard not to listen, wanting to respect Draco's privacy, but gruffly spoken words by way of Crabbe caught his attention. _So the monkey speaks, _he thought with a smirk.

"What in the hell is that kid's problem, 'neways?"

Draco's back stiffened, but he said nothing. Goyle responded, instead.

"I don't know, must've saved someone's life again, the way he's acting."

It was Harry's turn to falter. _Walk away, walk away, _he commanded himself, but found it impossible.

"Yeah, I liked it better when he didn't have friends. Malfoy?"

Harry was so absorbed that he didn't notice Draco miss a step and quickly recover. He didn't see Draco quickly scan the hallway for listeners in, didn't notice the tone in the Slytherin's voice that would have told him that what he was about to hear was an outright lie.

"I don't know, boys. Maybe he's finally gotten himself a girl." Draco turned his head then, and from a profile view, Harry saw the lewd, harsh grin and the upraised eyebrow.

Harry halted. Watched them go through a rapidly clouding hallway as something lurched inside the pit of his stomach, coiled tight around his insides.

He knew what he had to do. Spinning abruptly in the opposite direction, he bolted down the corridor, taking an alternative route to his salvation.


	11. Chapter 11: Stupidity

**Secrets and Surprises**. Chapter Eleven: Stupidity

**Disclaimer**: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Gee whiz!). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content. Not perfect match with the books.

**Also**: Whoa, two in one night. I must be getting somewhere, here. To my reviewers, much love! I'm sorry for letting you all down with such a long wait.

* * *

Draco stifled a groan into his pillow, finally alone for the first time that night. An excruciating feeling twisted about in his belly, more than once making him wonder if he was going to throw up. It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid, and frustrating to no end. Why did he open his mouth? He was sure that Harry hadn't heard, he had checked, after all, but there was always that possibility, wasn't there? _Don't be stupid, _he mused to himself, _you'd feel bad regardless of whether he heard you or not. _And where the hell did Harry get off making him feel this way? He didn't feel guilt. Malfoys didn't feel, well, much of anything, really, and so why should a stupid conversation with a stupid Gryffindor make him feel so fucking stupid? And why did he even have to defend himself with Crabbe and Goyle, anyway? Malfoys also did not defend themselves. He shouldn't have to convince them, or himself, that he hated Harry. Draco felt whatever he wanted to feel and others followed him.

So why? Why all this unnecessary angst?

Well, for one, he knew what would happen if he and The Wonder Boy did suddenly become friends. It would get back to his father, and his father would be…displeased. And Malfoy, with a self-conscious touch to his side that was once bruised so badly he hadn't moved for days, knew exactly why he didn't make his father angry.

With a restless toss to his side, Malfoy entered a fitful slumber, falling asleep with a scowl and a muttered phrase: "Goddamned Gryffindors."

What Malfoy didn't know, was that a certain Goddamned Gryffindor was mirroring his own actions, tossing over in crimson bed sheets.

Harry rolled over with a groan, mind wracked with painful emotions that he hadn't felt in days. Shame, guilt, betrayal. Betrayal on so many levels. Malfoy had betrayed him, no surprise in that, right? But he had also betrayed himself, and he had bit back bitter tears as he sat on the toilet seat, wrapping new wound with a strip of gauze.

"_Maybe he's finally gotten himself a girl."_

Why would Dra—Malfoy even say that? Why would he need to? Why would he go out of his way, once more to ridicule Harry when something as simple as a nod would have sufficed? Malfoy must really hate him. That was it. Harry had been right—they had just come together in a freak incident and now things were back the way they were. But even if he expected it, it wasn't what he'd hoped for at all.

Hope and expectations hardly ever met for him, it seemed.

With that thought, he finally gave way to the emotional exhaustion plaguing him, dreading the next day with a renewed fervor.

Draco knew that Harry had heard his remarks of the previous day as soon as he saw him the next day in the Great Hall. Gone was the aura of restfulness from the dark boy, instead was complete despondence. So Draco had fucked up then. Big deal. It was no big deal.

Oh, God, it was a big deal.

Harry had slumped down into his seat, shoulders hunched, little to say to his hopeful friends. It was like the Boy Who Had Hope had stepped back in time two weeks, and the sudden change seemed to affect everyone around him. The Gryffindor's Golden Boy wasn't smiling, and so, neither was anyone else at the table. Malfoy was beginning to understand some of the things Harry had told him that night—Harry really couldn't have feelings around anyone because in all actuality, he was their only hope.

Just like Draco was Harry's only hope.

Yes, it was a big deal indeed. And Draco couldn't escape the foreign feeling of needing to make it right. Bugger all.

Harry had awaken, had briefly enjoyed that space between awake and asleep, that point where you could almost control your dreams, and was enjoying a particular dream filled with golden fields and golden hair, blue skies and blue eyes. He felt wakefulness tugging at his conscience, knew in his gut that he very much didn't want to go there, and clung to his dream for a second longer before awaking to a familiar feeling of misery.

Oh yes, there was. A dull throbbing near the crook of his arm reminded him all to well of it. Sighing heavily and dragging himself out of bed, he crammed his glasses onto his face, feeling like he hadn't slept at all.

Breakfast was a nightmare, as he had predicted. He shot down Ron and Hermione's welcoming smiles with some sort of a grunt, and effectively ended any sort of conversation that was happening at the Gryffindor table. The mood shifted dramatically, from welcoming, to confused, then into sadness, anger, and finally settled on a depressing silence—one that Harry was sure he had caused.

_Damn you people, can't you have your own feelings for a change?_

Staring at his plate of plain toast, he was so lost in himself that he almost jumped in to the air at a light, but insistent tapping at his leg. The object in question made a slight fluttering sound, and Harry knew it was a note. (It wasn't all to unfamiliar for friends from different houses to send notes this way—enchant them to run skittering across the floor to the proper recipient) And he had a bad feeling that he knew who it was from.

He faked dropping one of his slices of toast onto the ground and huffed as he bent over, grasping the toast in one hand and shakily unfolding the note with the other.

There, in slanted handwriting, it read:

_10:00, Room of Requirement._


	12. Chapter 12: War

**Secrets and Surprises**. Chapter Twelve: War

**Disclaimer**: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.

**Warnings**: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Gee whiz!). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content. Not perfect match with the books.

**Also: **I think I stayed a little from the characters in this chapter, but I like it nonetheless.

Harry was there. Oh God, he didn't know why, or hell, even _how, _because the day had passed in such a blur—full of grumbled assurances of "Yes, I'm fine," or "Just tired," and even once, "Would you leave me alone?" to a stunned and hurt Hermione, but two minutes to 10:00 and he was there, lingering in the deserted hallway.

And then, with a flash of hope crushed by an overwhelming feeling hurt, _hurt, hurt, oh God, _Malfoy was there. The blonde didn't say anything, he just stood for a moment, staring at Harry, unrecognizable look in his eyes.

Draco flew silently through the corridors, giving anyone who opened their mouth the cold shoulder and continuing on his path. And then he was there. 10:00. And in front of him was the haunting sight. Harry looked like a ghost, pale, dark shadows under dulled green eyes that waited—waited for more hurt, judgment, and rejection. A wave of guilt smacked the Slytherin in the face, and all he could do was stand for a moment, trying to collect his wits and trying to call on the strength he had to get this done.

A brief flash of indignant anger bit him, a thought from the night before coming back—_How **dare** he do this to me?_ Harry must have noticed, because the boy winced. Draco repressed the emotion, instead striding over to Harry and grabbing his arm above the elbow, trying to ignore the other's attempt to recoil at the touch. Instead, he dragged Harry with him as he strode back and fourth down the hallway. _I need somewhere to talk. I need somewhere to talk. I need somewhere to…_

And the door was there at the next turn around. Harry blinked blearily, through the confused cloud of emotion; he still was awed at this simple (but probably endlessly complicated) bit of magic. Malfoy twisted the knob and threw open the door, all but dragging Harry in behind him.

Once inside, Draco released Harry's arm with more force than needed, and strode away towards the farthest wall, resting forearm against the cool surface, mind wracked with thought. _End this madness._

Harry stood awkwardly in the center of the room that had taken the same shape as the night a week previous, and internally shrugged at the sentiment. He guessed it was fitting.

Christ, why was he here? _Because you want to be. _Sick, he thought. _I'm sick. He hates me, and all I want to do is be around him. Please, _he thought sarcastically, _crush me some more._

"Potter." Malfoy began, and then heaved a sigh. "What is your problem?"

That finally provoked a reaction from the despondent Harry, who rallied at the inspiration to finally get angry—to feel that forbidden emotion.

"What's my problem? Malfoy, you know my problem already! Oh, wait, you mean the most current one? Let me think." A fake pause, laden with unspoken bitterness, "Yeah, the one person who I trusted—God, I can't believe I trusted you, you Goddamned—I trusted you! However stupid that was, I did! And still, you have to go on and hate me? What was I thinking, that maybe you'd understand?! Here I am, stupid enough to think that things could change, and imagine my surprise yesterday to hear the one person, and the least unlikely person, at that, doing everything he can to encourage his meathead friends in taking a cheap shot at The Boy Who Can't Defend Himself! My problem? Hah, I'm unstable, weak, confused, GAY, unable and unwilling to express any of it! My problem is that the only fucking comfort I have is a fucking razor hidden underneath my bed! We know my problem, Malfoy, now what the fuck is yours?!"

The echoes of Harry's shouts quickly died in the small room, leaving behind a devastating silence. Malfoy's posture hadn't changed, not an inch, his back was still to Harry, arm still pressed against the wall. But now the blonde was shaking.

"My problem." Draco laughed shortly, the sound a harsh bark. "My problem is, and damnit all, I'm trying to help someone in the only way that I know how—and they resent me for it. You know what's really funny, Potter," Draco finally rounded on Harry, taking large strides so he came face to face with the Gryffindor, voice like ice. "It's funny that before you came along, I never wanted to help anyone. And then when I did, it blows up in my face!" Draco broke away for a moment, then turned back. "And you're begging me to be understanding without being willing to do it your own self!"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Harry whispered through gritted teeth.

"My father is a Death Eater!" Draco screamed the forbidden statement out loud, sickly pleased to see the discomfort on Harry's face at the words. "And do you know what happens to _me_ if we're friends? The child of the Dark Lord's right-hand-man, cavorting around with the one who is supposed to kill him? I die, Potter. I die."

There was a stunned silence, Harry staring at Draco with a newfound understanding, Draco staring at his hands at the realization that he had just spewed out loud.

"They'd kill me if they knew."

The way he said it, and judging by the haunted look in those eyes, Draco could have been talking about any number of things.

"Draco, I—"

"Don't! Don't…just, save it. Come here." Once again, Draco grabbed Harry by the arm, around the wrist this time, and pulled him over to the twin set of chairs, setting the Gryffindor down in one, seating himself in the other, and looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry, confused for a moment, lurched in surprised realization and pulled the robe off over his head. Embarrassed, he hid the mark on his forearm with his other hand as he turned back to Draco.

"Harry, I've seen it before."

"I know…It's just that this time—well, this time—" He had no words, and so he released himself, offering the wound for first aid.

Draco sucked in air through his front teeth. There, on the pale skin, a vivid "M" was scratched into the flesh. Ouch. Closing his eyes a moment, deciding not to tell the other just how much that hurt him, he reached out for the arm and simply stated,

"You know, what I said really protected you more than anything." He dabbed the cloth around the area.

Harry's voice was confused. "How in the hell did it do that? Ow…"

"Hold still. First, think for a moment about what I _could _have said, and then think about what I _did_ say."

Harry thought. "You could have…you could have told them. You could have told them that I was gay. You could have told them anything…But you lied. You made them think…Holy—you really are smarter than me."

"I know." Draco grinned savagely up at Harry, wrapping the wound and patting the boy's warm palm, unable to stop himself from letting it linger there a second longer than what was necessary before pulling away.

Harry must have noticed, because he blushed a furious shade of red before shifting awkwardly in his seat, looking away from Draco. _Well, that's interesting, _the Slytherin thought, suddenly in brighter spirits.

They were done, and Harry didn't want to go. Would it be out of line if he… "Hey. I know a muggle card game, it's called War, and it's not hard or challenging, really, but it's a good waste of time and I don't really want to go back yet because that means I'll have to make up with Ron and Hermione, and yeah, the game is War and it pretty much fits us, right, and—"

"Harry, you're babbling."

"That's not true, Gryffindors don't babble."

Draco smirked and looked around the room, he found a deck of muggle cards peeking out from underneath Harry's armchair. Stupid room, it always knew, didn't it? Reaching down and grabbing it, he pulled the cards out of the case.

"Yeah, and Slytherins don't play cards, either."


End file.
